


Answering To

by somebodys_dog



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebodys_dog/pseuds/somebodys_dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can't fault a watchman for following orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answering To

"Ah, yes."  
  
He had such a casual way of addressing city-wide disorder. Such a smooth and simple manner in confirming disobedience. He made Sam want to chew lead.  
  
"So you saw fit to quarantine the area." A way with words, too. That was certainly one way to put the fiasco -- it certainly wasn't how Vimes would describe trapping a group of peaceful undead protesters between two lines of officers, and he'd been the one organizing it.  
  
"For the public good, sir," the commander answered stiffly, staring somewhere that wasn't quite Vetinari's face.  
  
"I see." He took a moment to examine some piece of paperwork or another before assigning it a slightly different pile on his desk. It was a worthless gesture, meant to fill the sharp silence with the mundane sounds of busywork. It was a silence designed to make you sweat. Sam recognized it, he used it all the time.  
  
At last, the patrician spoke again, still staring coldly at his desk. "Commander, would you be so good as to provide the names of the participating officers--"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"No?" Thin brows rose, but it was not surprise that crossed his face. By now, very little surprised him when Samuel Vimes was involved. Now he merely sat back and awaited the twisty journey to justifying this little bit of direct disobedience.  
  
"They answer to me, sir. Can't fault a watchman for following orders."  
  
"Indeed." But now Vetinari was steepling his fingers. Now he was looking directly at Sam, and for the first time this evening, the commander was feeling that cool tingle of nervousness climb up his spine. "And may I ask who it is  _you_  answer to?"   
  
Another moment of silence spread across the office. Vetinari saw the inclination toward some cheeky answer like "the law" sweep over Vimes before dissolving again. Truth was settling in the man like a weight. They didn't call him "Vetinari's terrier" for nothing.  
  
"I see," he echoed, standing slowly, still not withdrawing that piercing sort of stare. "And may I also draw your memory back to our meeting not last week, whereupon I gave you distinct instructions regarding population relations? I believe I fully expressed just how high tensions are rising."  
  
"Might be a lot higher if everyone's getting their blood sucked out, sir."  
  
"I see." It seemed to be his favorite phrase this evening. But this was different. This was clipped, icy. This was regret packaged neatly in two perfect syllables. Suddenly Sam was all too aware of the benefits of stopping while ahead as they raced past him in the opposite direction.  
  
"I will take that as confirmation that you do, in fact, recall. I believe my exact words were 'do not in any way aggravate the situation.' And yet, aggravation seems to be something we have in spades. So I will ask you again, Commander, who do you, at this moment, answer to?"  
  


 _Well_ , thought Vimes,  _in for a penny in for a pounding_.   
  
"All due respect sir," said Sam, without respect, "being as I'm off-duty at the moment, I'd have to say my wife."  
  
The patrician smiled, but it was not the loose, slap-on-the-wrist-and-a-vengeful-promotion smile that Vimes had been hoping for. It was tight, curling -- he had never considered Vetinari to be an evil man, but he wouldn't trust anyone he met in a dark alley smiling like that.  
  
"Ah, yes. Lady Sybil and I have been corresponding rather frequently of late. Oh, nothing official," he soothed acidly at the mildly horrified expression Vimes gave him, "no new titles to dish out just yet. Just idle gossip. We do talk a great deal about you, however." And this time he met that horrified expression with an eerily earnest laugh. "She is...very educational on the subject."  
  
He was rounding the desk by then, still as casually as could be. The man could put a knife in someone's ribs casually. He wore power like a robe: meticulous in its design and all nonchalance in its presentation. "If you had asked me, oh, a week ago, I would have said I know you well. Your habits, your preferences..."  
  
There were inches between them. At this proximity, Vetinari had to look slightly downward to keep that perfect, cold eye contact.  
  
"But now, I feel enlightened."  
  
Vimes swallowed. He made a mental note to have a talk with Sybil about all this "gossip." Something about that predatory edge in Vetinari's tone struck a little too close to home, reminded him a little too much of that confident smirk Lady Vimes adopted when she knotted the rope around his wrists.  
  
"I don't..." But how in the hell was he supposed to finish that sentence? Blurting out _I'm a married man_  seemed somehow inappropriate, and yet he could feel it clawing just behind his teeth.  
  
"Loyal to a fault," the patrician noted, a touch of admiration in that hunter's voice. "Yes. Sybil has been so kind in her letters. So permissive."  
  
And that was it. That simple little phrase, and Vimes knew he was done for. Leave it to Sybil -- she always had been more brazen and bold-faced than he was. It was  certainly a part of the attraction, all that power in so regal and sweet a person. It was certainly part of the attraction. But she wasn't always sweet and meek, and he loved that about her. And now he was gone. Just like that, she was handing over the reins, and he wasn't sure if it thrilled him or terrified him.  
  
"Sir Samuel," Vetinari's voice shot through him, and the immediacy of reality hit him like Carrot's back-swing. "I would like you to turn around and place your hands on the desk."  
  
So casual. Always casual. Always innate with that command. It really was just like Sybil.  
  
"Is that an order, sir?"  
  
Vetinari cocked his head, that same, carnivorous smile thinning out his lips.  
  
"Does it have to be?"  
  


 

 

Hours later, when Sybil was kindly asking him about his day moments before she pulled the gag into place, the only answer that came to mind was, "Cold hands." That smirk of hers was back, full-swing, as she daintily found his standard set of handcuffs.  
  
"He has damn cold hands."


End file.
